Larmes des Anges
by Vatican City
Summary: He could feel three million people dying and mourning and screaming, pleading helplessly to God to save them in Port-au-Prince. Revised as of 10-9-2011


**Title: **Larmes des Anges

**Summary: **He could feel three million people dying and mourning and screaming, pleading helplessly to God to save them in Port-au-Prince.

**Pairings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia Axis Powers is the creation of Hidekaz Himaruya. I am not aiming to ridicule the earthquake. I am merely a writer taking creative liberties. Haiti and Venezuela are my original characters.

* * *

Gone. In a moment. All gone.

The tremors had been catastrophic, earth-shaking, and Haiti can do nothing but collapse where he is standing-

_The taste of dust and grit and blood in his mouth, his ears filled with the deafening sounds of architecture collapsing and people screaming, a thousand wounds split open on his body, the feeling of being buried alive, raw and fearful and not knowing what was going on- _

Three million. An estimated three million have been affected by the earthquake. Haiti wants to scream, standing outside the ruins of the once-grand National Palace and hearing the chairman of the Red Cross' words.

Three million means nothing to the man; to him three million is only a number, another statistic on a chart. But a Nation can _feel _the impact. What would the fresh, unharmed chairman say if he could _feel _three million people dying and mourning and screaming, pleading helplessly to God to save them in Port-au-Prince? What _if _he could feel the heart of his nation, his pride and joy, collapse in shambles in a few mere hours?

Haiti can only guess. Tightening his grip on his threadbare coat, the Nation makes his way through the streets, seeing the survivors stumble out with a multitude of wounds, some with children, some with their valuables. He supposes he would feel joy at their survival later, but now he feels only sorrow.

Seeing a young girl shivering from fear and shock, Haiti stops to wrap his coat around her. She would make better use of the worn garment then he. Looking around at the collapsed houses, he feels shame.

Why had he not built those houses better? Even though his nation is poor, it is no excuse to hide behind. He could have done better; the lives of the poor mean as much as the lives of the wealthy in life and death.

Wearily, the Caribbean Nation stumbles on. He sees women clawing their way out of the rubble, hears their agonized sobs fill the air. Once he spots a girl standing atop a car, keeping sentry next to the place her family is trapped. Feeling another stab of pain and shame, Haiti cringes and turns away, unable to face the tragedy.

"Hey, Emmanuel, hold on there, because we've got you!" a cheery voice calls. Haiti, surprised, turns to see a familiar blond jump out of a helicopter - an _American_ helicopter.

"You came," he breathes, and, despite himself, winces at his injuries as the North American pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

America notices, and winces with him in sympathy as he holds the Haitian at arm's-length. "Man, the earthquake really shook you up, didn't it?"

Haiti manages a weak smile and a nod. His pride is in shambles, so it will have to do.

"No offense, but you look like hell," a cool female voice comments from behind them. The Caribbean Nation whips around and sees another Nation emerging from the helicopter.

"Celeste?"

"Yes, it's me," Venezuela grins. "You're going to be fine, Haiti. France sent aid too, and-"

"Ve~ pasta fixes everything," a cheery voice comes from behind Alfred. Italy Veneziano emerged, holding his ever-present plate of pasta. "Would you like some?"

"Stop being so nice to everyone, you!" Italy Romano snaps as he climbs up a tower of rubble, braving the instability to make it to a crying infant and his barely-conscious mother. "But you're all right," the Italian adds grudgingly. "Not like the wine bastard…or the potato bastard."

Alfred snickers and grabs Haiti's hand. "C'mon, let's go help the rescuers," he suggests and pulls his fellow Nation along with him before Haiti could protest. Not that he would have minded, of course.

* * *

Emmanuel smiles, more relaxed than before despite the stinging of his wounds, as he gathers with his fellow Nations that had come to help in a public square, his people huddled together around him. His heart rises with the hymns sung by the survivors, filled with sorrow for the lost and yet with a core of hope.

Feeling uplifted, he joins in, his voice strong despite the injuries he had suffered. Alfred is there supporting him with his arm and his voice, mature yet with a child-like faith. Soon, Celeste's rich, musical voice fills the air, and Feliciano keeps up the harmony, egging on his brother, who, for the first time, does not look reluctant as he exhorts his faith.

Emmanuel looks around at his friends, his people, who had come together as friends after a tragedy, in the public square under the night sky. For the first time, he thinks, _we're going to make it.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **Written in honor of the tragedy that occurred in Haiti this Tuesday, the largest earthquake in two hundred years.

If I have wrongly translated the title, please inform me; I am not fluent in French and was forced to use an online translator.


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